


the ways we say i love you

by zanykingmentality



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Lowercase, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One-Sided Attraction, i had this idea a long time ago and this was finally a way to finish it, lots of figurative language, one-sided angst, s3 after Zuko joins the Gaang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 19:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: but this is wartime, dearest. only a few make it out alive.[ in which katara and zuko mend the breaks. ]





	the ways we say i love you

**Author's Note:**

> to [goldenclasp](https://goldenclasp.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for [zutara exchange](https://zutaraexchange.tumblr.com/)

**i.**

 

zuko knows a number of things, like the smell of early-morning dewdrops dripping from leaves, the crimson glow of a fire fueled by rage, and that he is irrevocably in love with a girl who wants nothing to do with him.

 

he’s learned to track animal prints, and how to distinguish them; he’s learned tears don’t always mean sadness, and eyes full of affection can turn into something so twisted, so brutal, so vicious.

 

his mother told him, once, that love is a choice. love is being together after quarreling and spitting angry words, and love is dangerous dance that neither ever learned the steps to. _improvise, zuko, and you’ll make it._ he’s not sure when it became less about love and more about heartbreak, or survival, but his mother has always had a way of making things fit.

 

when he was too selfish to listen or understand, his uncle told him love _isn’t_ anything. pure love is unconditional and selfless; that’s all. he said love is something we define for ourselves.

 

zuko has never thought much of love. and, even if he had, he would have thought love was a distraction, or something he couldn’t ever achieve.

 

he never thought about the way it could feel to imagine someone’s fingers intertwined in his, someone’s _life_ intertwined in his. until he does, dreaming beside a crackling fire, and the reality of it is like a slap in the face.

 

to a scarred boy with nothing to call his own, love is a daydream. love is a fantasy. it is not, _was_ not, a reality.

 

love has no place in war.

 

(still, he remembers kindness and the feel of her cool fingers against his scar. he doesn’t let anyone touch it. but she did.

 

somehow it feels right, that it should be her. even though he knows it’s not.)

 

he shifts in the dark and stares at twinkling lights centuries above him. they sparkle despite everything; they are a constant in a world that has known only injustice for far too long.

 

and he starts to think, no, love isn't for him. maybe what he's mistaken as love is a reaction, a normal emotion stemming from a super-charged moment surrounded by crystals and loneliness. until he sees her again the next morning, and the glare she shoots him makes his heart unexpectedly pound in his chest.

 

he knows her narrowed eyes and piercing gaze like the back of his hand, by now. he knows her mistrust and doesn't blame her for it.

 

but he also knows her soft smile when she cares, the fluid movements of her arms when she waterbends, the way she sleeps without moving, like she's ready to spring into battle at the slightest noise. he knows the ever-present fear in the back of her eyes, and how her expression is almost always guarded and unreadable.

 

this is wartime, and she was not born a soldier, but she was forced to _be_ one. he knows he had a hand in that.

 

he has many regrets. but he will make them right again.

 

.

 

**ii.**

 

katara doesn’t expect zuko to understand. it was _his_ people that took her mother away; how would he know that any kindness she offered him was like disrespecting the circumstances of her mother’s death? she extended to him an olive branch, _once,_ and it turned out to be the worst mistake she’s made. to put trust in someone who rips it apart. to try to help someone who tears her apart.

 

she ignores his eyes over the fire. the temple is cold and drafty, and she knows zuko is warm, but she’s entirely unwilling to meet him with anything but scorn.

 

deep within her, she still feels some kind of call to him, some kind of siren song that pulls her toward him. it makes her body tingle with rage and something she doesn’t want to name, something that makes the anger in her even _greater._ katara tries her best to be a calm and parenting figure, but zuko… _zuko._

 

so she’s surprised when he comes back with suki in tow. she’s surprised he didn’t sell her brother over to the highest bidder at the first possible chance. it’s not enough to trust him yet, but enough to make her think. she’s even more surprised when he helps sneak her out to the general who’d had her mom killed.

 

even more so when zuko stands back and lets her decide if she should kill. if blood should be on her hands, too. she drops the water around her and turns back to zuko, ready for the day-long flight ahead of them.

 

this is when she begins trusting him again.

 

she lets him help her collect food and water and overlooks the way his hand accidentally brushes hers as they walk. she’s not ready for the idea of it being intentional yet.

 

if zuko is a star she is the rest of night: inky darkness and silvery moonlight. she decides she doesn’t mind it so much.

 

.

 

**iii.**

 

being friends with katara is nothing like zuko imagined it would be. then again, he wouldn't let himself indulge in those kinds of fantasies much before he actually re-earned her trust; no point in entertaining thoughts that went straight to the pangs in his heart, anyway. they both wake early and sleep late, careful of the rise and fall of moonshine and sunlight, like a dance they tiptoe around together. they spar sometimes at night and in the morning, and they're evenly matched, depending on the time of day.

 

she opens up to him slowly. first it's a thank-you for helping her find closure. then it's the feel of her hand in his on appa’s back. as romantic as it feels to zuko, it's not meant like that; he knows it's katara’s way of being supportive, of understanding that he's left everything behind for their motley crew of teenagers and a cause to destroy the father he once wished could love. he doesn’t try to read between the lines of her palm.

 

he could, though. he could torture himself like that. he could let his dreams run away from him and imagine too much too early. she’s not obligated to like him _at all,_ zuko feels lucky every time she doesn’t forcibly oust him from camp ━

 

then he jolts awake with the ghost of lips on his. his traitorous subconscious shows him scenes he can only _wish_ become real.

 

by the time they’re safely on ember island, zuko’s hope has been only slightly rekindled. the girl-turned-warrior he’s fallen in love with still has a soft streak to her, like low tide, such a contrast from her sharp ice-rain. that morning after he’s tossed and turned for hours, he finally sits up. katara looks over at him.

 

“feeling alright?” she asks.

 

zuko rubs his head. “yeah, i think.”

 

she’s already finished making breakfast, is sharpening knives of ice using a rigid stone. the small smile on her fast juxtaposes the violent scraping of rock on ice.

 

“you look like you haven’t slept,” katara observes.

 

“i was thinking,” zuko says.

 

“penny for your thoughts?”

 

zuko stands and sits next to her on the steps, resting his elbows on his knees. “i just… i have my doubts. who _knows_ how all this is going to end.”

 

katara nods but says nothing, pausing mid-scrape. she drops her tools and takes zuko’s hand, reassuring in her calm, steady grip. nothing like his hands that tremble as he combs them through his short hair. they sit for a while, resting, until the others wake up.

 

.

 

**iv.**

 

the ember island players are arguably the best part of their time on the island, but that’s not saying much. there was only one thing that the play got right: growing feelings, at least on zuko’s part. as they trudge back to camp, he can’t help but notice more acutely the slope of katara’s shoulders, the way she ushers them all along, the mother hen of the group.

 

he notices, over the next few days, the soft smiles that come to her face when she’s content, the stressed furrow of her brows, the slight downturn of her unimpressed mouth. he notices her mouth a lot.

 

but they are warriors, bred to hurt and kill, taught by powers beyond their control to hate and fight and never surrender. zuko only learns the true meaning of surrender when she stares into his eyes for a brief moment, affection in the undertones of her stunning blue eyes.

 

they’re alone one night when zuko finally begins to break. he looks at her lips for a beat too long, and katara notices. he’s afraid she’ll pull away from him immediately, terminate the friendship they’ve been growing ever since the abandoned air temple ━ but she doesn’t. katara’s eyes flit down over his mouth, his chest, back up to his eyes. she smirks like a challenge.

 

“is it okay,” zuko asks, “if i kiss you?”

 

“i was starting to think you’d never ask,” katara murmurs.

 

for once, zuko does not hesitate. he presses his mouth to hers quickly; heat overcomes the simmering fire in his veins, and he feels the cool touch of her water when she reaches up and splays her fingers along his cheek. he pulls her toward him with an arm around her waist, reveling in this, the intoxicating, beautiful feel of katara and zuko.

 

.

 

**v.**

 

when all is said and done, they move to the fire nation. katara wanders with wide eyes around peacetime festivals, no longer trying to reconcile the three versions of the fire nation she now knows: a band of cruel murders, a desolate people in search of hope, and a rowdy crowd filled to the brim with enthusiasm.

 

zuko links his arm through hers and pulls her toward a stand selling strange, blue drinks for a coin a cup. in the time that comes, he will be passing laws and treaties and orders to get the fire nation back on his feet. but zuko knows, he will not be alone. he takes a sip of sparkling blue magic and looks at the girl at his side, dressed now in red with the stab of her blue eyes. he sees katara and she sees him.

 

some say the love between them could only have lasted during the war. when they were both soldiers, fighting for the same cause. but zuko and katara both agree ━ the real story starts here.


End file.
